A Song of Love and Loyalty
by Sisyphean Effort
Summary: Sam reflects back on his life at the Wall with Jon while walking through the halls of the Citadel.  Short.  Angsty.  Jon/Sam if you squint.


_Disclaimer: I do not own the Song of Ice and Fire series, or its characters. I'm making zilch from this.  
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_Spoilers: All the way through "A Dance with Dragons," just to be safe._

_Also: I used some dialogue directly from "A Dance with Dragons" in this. As Tyrion said: "A mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone in order to remain sharp." Well, a writer also needs to practice her skills in order for them not to turn to rust. So what little writing you see here is just a bit of practice...  
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><p>A Song of Love and Loyalty<p>

He could not stop thinking about the corpse on the slab.

The pungent chemical smell of it, left by the preserving fluids used by the maesters. And beneath that, the noxious taint of slow decay. Sam thought he would never get used to it, that rotting smell. One would think he _would_ get used to it, after all the corpses he had seen up on the Wall. But no, he still hated it: the overwhelming scent, the sight of blood. And he still hated to look upon such cold, dead, clammy flesh.

At least the corpses in Oldtown stayed dead.

Sam was suddenly reminded of something that Jon had said to him the last time they had talked. _If you have to cut up corpses, so be it. At least in Oldtown the corpses won't object. _It was funny, the things he remembered. It all seemed so long ago, so far away. _The Wall. _The paralyzing cold, the darkness. The dead rising, creeping through the snow. Red blood blooming like wild flowers stitched onto a blanket of white. It was like a half-remembered nightmare. Something he wanted to forget, something he never, ever wanted to think about. The cold. The dark. The dead. And the...

_Snow..._

As Sam plodded along through the halls of the Citadel, shuffling away from the teaching theatre where the corpses lay rotting on chill stone slabs, a vision flashed through his mind: a figure dressed all in black, racing through the snow with a white wolf at his side. _Jon. _Sam clutched the book beneath his arm tighter, as he remembered the real reason why he was doing this. His true reason for coming all the way to Oldtown to become a maester, to forge a chain. It was because Lord Snow had commanded it. Ordered him to, despite all of Sam's feeble protests and whinings. A distant voice saying: _Sam,_ _you will obey me._

Well, Lord Commander Snow may have ordered him to forge a maester's chain, but it was for his friend Jon that he would do it.

_Jon, you are so very, very far away. _Sam stopped, huffing at the base of the steps that led up to his sleeping quarters in the big stone rookery. From the landing, he could see the golden orb of the sun being swallowed up by a pack of fast moving clouds. _Swift as a white wolf across snow. _It was still warm here in Oldtown, where the last vestiges of Summer could be read in the red leaves of the courtyard trees. But not for long. _Winter is coming, _he heard Jon whisper in the back of his mind. Sam wondered how cold it was now, up north. Was the Wall weeping, or was it a solid sheet of ice, its impregnable surface sparkling like a million tiny fireflies in the dark? The Wall was always beautiful to look at, a wonder to behold. Nature's own mighty fortress cast up like a frigid white dyke into the sky. It held back the wildlings and other things that lurked in the dark. It held back giants and mammoths. It held back the dead.

_I am the sword in the darkness, the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn..._Sam repeated the words in his mind. It was more than just an oath; it was a talisman against evil. It was a talisman against the dead rising. Sam thought of the dead thing he had slain back on the Wall, of the dragonglass dagger glittering in the dark. Then he thought of the dead body on the slab, back in the maester's teaching theatre, and the scalpel in his hand. Both filled him with fright and made him nauseous. _I'm Sam the Scared, not Sam the Slayer, _he had said to Jon. It was true; he was craven, he was a coward, he was fat, he was unfit, he was...

_Stop it! From this day forward, you will not call yourself craven. I can't command you to be brave, but I can command you to hide your fears. You said the words, Sam. Remember! _It was Jon's voice again, the voice in the back of his head. Sam straightened his spine and continued up the stairs. _For you, Jon. I will do this for you. I will pretend to be brave just for you. Not for Lord Commander Snow but for my friend Jon who was kind to me and laughed with me and made me feel less afraid. For you, I will do this._

As he drew near the rookery, Sam could hear the ravens cawing, their squawks creating a discordant song. _Corn! Corn! _Sam smiled as he thought of the old Bear's raven, now Jon's, always begging for food. _Corn! Corn! _He was smiling, but the smile suddenly faded, vanishing like the sun behind the billowing clouds, as the raven's quorking reminded him of what he had dreamed last night. A terrible dream. A dark dream, full of untouched fears...

_He was back in the solar again with Jon, just as they were on the day before Sam left the Wall. Sam was saying how he couldn't possibly become a maester; he was afraid of blood and his father would be angry with him if he went to the Citadel. Jon sat behind his desk, just like before, listening to Sam's protests. Mormont's old raven crept along the back of his chair, screaming for corn and receiving none. After listening to more of Sam's pointless arguments, Jon shooed the bird away, stood up and said, "There are so many books at the Citadel, no man can hope to read them all. You would do well there, Sam. I know you would." "But...a maester must be a healer, and blood makes me faint," Sam countered in a whimper. Then Jon's face grew dark, and he came around the desk and said, "Be quiet. You lied and schemed and plotted to make me lord commander. You will obey me. You'll go to the citadel and forge a chain..." Sam stood there, frozen, staring into Jon's eyes. He watched them go from a hard, stormy black to a frightening translucent blue, watched the fight, the fire, drain out of them. Then in a whisper, Jon said, "Why did you do this to me, Sam? Why? Why did you raise me up, only to serve me to the wolves? I thought we were friends. Why did you betray me, Sam? Why..."_

_ And then Sam looked down to see his own dragonglass dagger sticking out of Jon Snow's stomach..._

A shiver like winter raced down Sam's spine as he remembered the dream, remembered the nightmare. _A shiver like a white wolf racing across the snow._ In his head, the words continued to echo: _Why did you do this to me, Sam? Why? I thought we were friends..._Sam swallowed and said silently to the Jon in his dream, _We are friends! We are! You are my one true friend! I would never betray you, Jon! I love you! I love you! _Still, winter's chill held him fast in its grip as Sam climbed the last remaining steps to the rookery. Inside, the ravens cawed and complained and crowed senseless words. Out of the shadows, a figure appeared, startling Sam out of his memory of bad dreams. The Sphinx stood there with a white raven on his shoulder and said to him, "It's time." And Sam nodded and shivered once again from a chill that went deeper than cold, deeper than love, and said, with dream-like foreboding:

"Winter is coming."

_End/Fin_


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